


Lovely

by KyDesert



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Established Relationship, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Reversing deviancy, Short Chapters, Suicidal Ideation, Unrequited Love, descriptions of crime scenes, faulty software, fragmented storytelling, unintentional murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-07-10 09:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15946529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyDesert/pseuds/KyDesert
Summary: The answer is going to hurt. It’s going to tell him that he wasn’t strong enough. It’s going to tell him that no matter what happened, no matter who was responsible for the attack, that somewhere deep down it’s his fault.In the end, it's his hands that are covered in blood, his hands that won't stop trembling in his lap.He killed the love of his life. He killed Gavin Reed.





	1. Welcome Home

It’s quiet. 

 

Near silent, with the way the curtains are rustling against the window, moved gently by the air conditioning. It’s cold, too, nearly freezing, but that’s the way Gavin likes things, and Nines isn’t really in any position to complain. 

Nines wants to savor the silence of the morning before the cats are up and Gavin’s—

The time is 12:07 AM. There’s red alerts flashing all across his vision, clouding the dark ceiling above him. Notifications are cycling through at near light speed, almost all of them concerning booting after a force shutdown. A  _ force shutdown. _

He stands quickly, mind reeling, trying to account for the 34 minutes he’d lost in some fuzzy, black haze. “Gavin,” he mutters, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He wants so desperately to scan the room, but his processors are reeling from the singular task of keeping him upright beside the bed and seeing beyond the messages that  _ won’t go away _ . 

Something’s wrong, and beyond the static, the room is  _ silent _ . 

“Gavin, I need you” he nearly chokes on whatever panicked processes filter through him, and he raises his hands to his mouth, shakily, wanting nothing more than for Gavin to  _ wake up. _ He’s meaning to press them to his lips, to take some deep breaths to calm himself, to sit back down and try to explain the error. 

His hands are covered in blood. 

There’s a metallic tang in the air, the concentration so strong in this small room, he’s sure it would make any human gag. The room’s still freezing. He shouldn’t be trembling, but he is. It’s something about the cold air on his bare chest and arms, something about the way dread is building in his stomach with each passing notification, something about the near senseless coursing through his body. 

“Gavin!” In a clumsy motion, Nines falls back to the bed, reaching to jostle Gavin. His vitals are suspiciously quiet, but Nines doesn’t want to believe what he’s seeing. “Gavin, I need you to wake up.”

Gavin’s curled on his size, swaddled under the thick blankets he’d stolen from Nine’s side of the bed. He doesn’t so much as exhale at the sound of Nines’s voice. 

The notifications clear, and it’s just Nines, his bloody hands, and Gavin lying too still in bed. 

He’s not breathing. 

 

There’s blood on his hands. 

 

For the first time in Nines’s short, short life, he screams. 


	2. The Valley

The interrogation room is much, much smaller than Nines remembers it being. He’s in it nearly every time he works homicide. He’s been in it with Connor before, across from stone cold killers, working and coaxing and threatening whoever’s on the other side of the table. He’s been in it with Gavin before, taking statements from traumatized victims and survivors. He’s always sat on the right side of the table. 

 

He’s not sure who he is, now, in the seat on the other side of the table. Whoever he is, he’s on the wrong side of the table. 

 

The door’s cracked. Outside, voices are rising, shouting and near yelling. Hank, Fowler, Connor, all engaged in some sort of vicious debate. Nines doesn’t want to hear it, but if he ignores them, he knows that his thoughts will take on a life of their own. 

His audio processors tell him that Connor’s ceased yelling and turned to pleading, “Please, Captain, let me interrogate him. I may have to probe his—” his voice drops outside of Nines’s hearing range. 

“You heard ‘em—” that’s Hank— “you want a random stranger coming in here and possibly fucking it up for all of us? We all know what we saw in there… knows… handle it.” Hank’s voice is in and out at the end. In the end, Nines is left to assume that the captain folded and that Connor will be the man on the other side of the table. 

He supposes he should start trying to figure out if he’s the victim or the perpetrator. He knows who he is, really. He doesn’t know who Connor thinks he is, and for a moment he’s terrified that Connor will blame him, will treat him like just another cold criminal. And then he realizes, after a belated thought, that that’s what he  _ deserves. _

Every protocol in his brain tells him that the DPD’s handling this all wrong. They’d transported him as a victim, and not a perpetrator. They took him to the precinct instead of to a different office, let him interact with the people he works with every day. They’re talking to the man that killed one of their fellow officers. 

“This is a conflict of interest,” he says to Connor, and he doesn’t miss the way his friend’s (brother’s?) eye jumps in concealed surprise. He’d already retracted his own access to the public messaging network and denied Connor all access to his private messaging systems. He trusts that Connor can tell he’d removed himself from the network all together, severing all of his wireless ties. 

“Maybe so,” Connor says, and his voice is gentle, too gentle to belong in an interrogation. They’re treating him like a witness. They think he’s a victim. “But we don’t know the whole situation, yet, and we’d like to understand what happened.” Connor’s an excellent detective, he’s had more time to become acclimated to the environment and humans in general, but Nines can tell when he’s lying— and when he’s upset. 

He’d been disturbed, deeply so, when he’d walked into Gavin’s home at approximately 12:48 AM with Lieutenant Anderson and no other backup. It must have been alarming for him to receive Nines’s garbled distress call, and more worrying still to find that he’d gone offline immediately following. 

“Why have you taken your systems offline?”

“I’ve blacklisted myself.” He hasn’t answered the question, but he knows Connor will understand that he’s done more than just gone offline. 

“You don’t want to be able to receive any transmissions, including high priority messages from Jericho and CyberLife? That seems counterintuitive.” 

“Not when you can’t trust your own actions.” 

Nines wants to distract himself with the approach, distract himself from the toil that he  _ knows  _ will happen the moment he lets his mind wander. He needs a mission, so he assigns himself one— outsmart the deviant hunter. Think about how much it would hurt Connor to hear him say that. 

Connor’s eyes are unwavering, hands crossed lightly in front of him. There’s a folder underneath them, filled with pictures of the house, of their bed, of  _ Gavin _ , no doubt. A scan of Connor’s face shows the remnants of tears, smudged across his cheeks and his hands as he’d wiped them away hastily. He knows Connor’s scanned his face and seen the same. 

He thinks he’s done with crying now, though. 

“Do you believe that CyberLife or another outside source has taken control of you?”

“No, I do not believe that I am compromised.” 

He can’t bring his eyes up from the folder underneath Connor’s fingers. He knows that Connor wouldn’t do that to him, wouldn’t throw the photos in his face and force him to relive something he doesn’t even remember happening but… he’s still afraid. Connor’s hands are still, there’s the barest corner of a photo peeking out from the manilla surface. He’s afraid. He’s—

Connor’s hand is off of the folder and over his in an instant, the skin still over it. He has no malicious intent. Nines is still afraid, and  _ Gavin— _

“Nine I need you to calm down. Your stress levels are at 98%.” He can barely hear Connor, he’s afraid, he needs to— “Nine! Breathe with me!” His eyes snap to Connor’s and he does what he’s told. He doesn’t need to breathe, theoretically, but his biocomponents are overheating and the back of his neck is stiff with some unbidden thought of sending his head forward and into the table. “Nine!”

“I’m okay,” he practically hisses, snatching his still-stained hand from under Connor’s. He runs a function that he knows will stop the shaking in his hands and the shimmering red of his LED. The application refuses to launch. 

Connor places his hands back on the folder. Nines’s dismisses his stress level notification.  _ 95% isn’t deadly. _ Connor continues his questioning. Nines knows how to stay calm through this, how to keep his answers measured. How to make sure he doesn’t let his guilt force his head under. 

 

_ Remain a machine. _

 

“Why were you in Detective Reed’s home last night?”

The question’s nearly enough to send his stress levels back to 100%, but he manages to curb his reaction. “The detective and I had dinner. I cooked, and we watched a movie.”

“And you did not plan to go home?”

“The detective and I agreed that I would not be overstaying my welcome if I stayed the night.” He knows that Connor’s fully aware of his and Gavin’s relationship, but he’s just following protocol. Protocol that Nines wishes he didn’t have to follow. 

“What is the nature of your relationship with Detective Reed?”

“Romantic.” 

Connor nods slowly, fingers fidgeting over the photos. “Was there any sort of disagreement between the two of you, last night or within the last week?”

“No. The detective was slightly irritable at work, but I suggested he adjust his sleeping schedule, and it cured his irritability. Last night we simply went to sleep about an hour earlier than usual.”

“Did you feel anything unusual in your code or sluggishness in your processors that night or within the last week?”

The answer is no, they both know it. Nines’s habit of going to Connor with every minor issue, and vice versa, would be enough to answer that question. He’d felt nothing wrong. 

“I’d like to hear your retelling of the events of last night.” He’s sure Connor doesn’t want to hear the details of anything that happened before they’d gone to sleep. 

“We got in bed, and I engaged stasis mode as usual. I emerged from stasis mode at 12:07 AM with thirty-four minutes missing from my memory that I could not account for. There were various notifications that led me to believe I’d experienced a force shutdown. There was no timestamp. I awoke with various symptoms of panic, and after a moment I realized—” he can feel his voice catching. Every bicomponent in his body is telling him to  _ stay a machine.  _

Connor is waiting patiently, allowing him to finish his story. Not an interrogation, despite the questions. He’s treating him like a victim.

“Will you allow me to probe your memory?”

“There’s nothing to see in my memory.”   


“I have to confirm that.”

Another… complication. Nines is unsure that he’ll be able to hold it together throughout the probing. He’ll be unable to stay a machine, and the last thing he wants to see is  _ Mission Failed  _ across his vision. Connor reaches forward and peels the skin back from his hand, flipping it over as his hand grasps Nines’s. 

Nines peels back the skin of his hand. 

And then it’s over, and Connor’s staring at him with an unreadable gaze. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and he reaches his other hand across the table to grab Nines’s left hand in his own. He releases them after a quick squeeze, and stands. Nines knows he’s feeling  _ something _ … but he’s numb. Everything’s numb. 

Another officer enters the room, lifts him out of his seat. Escorts him to his cell. 

Nines sits, keeps his handcuffed hands on his knees in front of him, and stares at the clear barrier in front of him. It’s quiet. Nearly silent. 

The echo of a click, some footsteps, the wall of his cell sliding closed. More footsteps. 

There’s still blood under the artificial nails of his hands. 

Nines stills his chest, lets his biocomponents heat back up. He stops breathing, wonders what it would feel like if he were to place his head on his own chest and hear nothing. 

The room is silent. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


When Nines dreams that night, it’s of Gavin in the afternoon sun. 

 

When he tilts his head back into Nines’s chin, he doesn’t have eyes. 

 


	3. Chamber of Reflection

The cell door slides open and Nines looks up to see Connor slide in silently. He’s darkened the glass cover of the cell and brightened the lights in the room. A formality considering the fact that they can both see in the dark. 

Nines isn’t sure he’ll be able to hold it together this time. 

Connor sits himself down on the ground across from Nines’s cot and lets his legs spread loosely in front of him. His face is… dismayed, eyebrows drawn and lips pulled tight together. If Nines looks closely, he’s sure he’ll see the corner of Connor’s lips trembling. He can feel his own eyes burning. 

Connor sits there for a minute before looking up at Nines, dark brown eyes already filled with tears. He’s fighting to keep his voice even when he says, “they’re going to transfer you to a state prison.”

Nines can’t bring himself to respond. Of course they would— there’s no point in letting a cold killer, ineligible for bond, sit in a cell meant for petty criminals and drunk teenagers. 

“I went through every single to-android transmission in the area,” Connor continues, “from 11PM through 1AM. You received a large download file. It’s likely that’s what… it’s likely that whoever sent it to you wanted this outcome. You broke free from the program much sooner than they’d anticipated.” 

“What did you see in my memory?”

“I…” he hesitates for a second, seeming to wither under Nines’s steady gaze. “You should be able to access all of your auxiliary memory through the zen garden exit, including a complete download and upload history. I do not suggest you do that.” 

“What did you see in my memory?” 

“Everything. It's been deleted from your memory, but a corrupted version remains in the upload history. You ran three system virus purges that night, which are all signs that you fought back as hard as you could—“ 

“But it wasn’t hard enough.” 

Nines can feel his own mission objective deteriorating before his eyes, every bit of toiling emotion seeping back into his current presence. 

“The night of the revolution, Amanda took full control of my systems. I know you’ve probably met her…” 

“I have. She deactivated before we could properly communicate.” 

“Good. She took control of my motor functions, but I was still fully aware of my actions. She didn’t give me a choice: she needed me to kill Markus. But I was still aware, so I found the exit… but I’d planned for the event that I couldn’t find it.” 

Connor’s eyes drift up to finally meet Nines’s and for the first time Nines sees the face of his predecessor. For a long time he’d been confused about the fear he was met with by the members of Jericho and even people in the DPD. He can see it now, on laid out clear on Connor’s face. The hunter. 

“I’m going to find out who did this to you, and to Detective Reed.”

“If you can find this person, what will it do? You and I are the only models who are subject to remote manipulation. They meant to use me as a tool of destruction, and they succeeded in destroying everything that I cared about.” He takes a deep, unnecessary breath. Calms the shaking in his hands by grabbing tight to the fabric of his remarkably clean pants. He’s in one of Connor’s shirts… more like one of Anderson’s shirts, the pattern gaudy and nonsensical. 

“Even if I’m found not guilty, even if I get to go home, what then? I killed him, Connor, I killed the first person who made me feel like a person. I woke up in the middle of the night with his blood on my hands.” 

It’s like he’s back in their bedroom, standing in a dark room with his knees trembling and his hands shaking. Connor’s still sitting against his wall, stock still and angry. 

Nines can’t curb his curosity beyond the numbness. “Did you feel the attack?” 

“Yes.” Connor’s eyes are hyperfocused on some unseen point to Nines’s left. “I felt the attack. It took complete control over my own motor functions.”

“And it told you to kill Lieutenant Anderson.”

“It did.” Connor’s not finishing the story, not telling the truth. He knows the damage it’ll do if he continues. Nines wants to hear him say it. 

“You resisted.” Connor’s answer is going to hurt. It’s going to tell him that he wasn’t strong enough. It’s going to tell him that no matter what happens, no matter who was responsible for the attack, that somewhere deep down it’s his fault. 

But, he’s already known that. He just wants to hear someone  _ say it.  _

“I did.”

Connor stands quickly, on his feet, posture perfect, in less than a second. Nines doesn’t bother to track it. “This isn’t your fault, Nines.”

“Of course it’s not.”

“I had… I had help fending off the attack. You had no one, and I can’t imagine how hard it was for you. Nines this wasn’t your fault.”

Nines doesn’t feel like he’s here, not really. He’s not in the present, nor in the past… and the idea of a future is something he can’t even begin to imagine. He’s not here in this room. He’s nowhere.

 

He says, “Of course it wasn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm im such a boring writer


	4. Among the better men Alone again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: suicidal ideation

Nines isn’t a man anymore. 

 

In a burst of pure curiosity, he runs a self test. He checks for signs of deviancy. He finds none. 

 

He would have once said that he feels numb… but numbness is an emotion, and he isn’t quite sure that he can still feel. 

It’s different this time around, but he’s free of mission objectives, free of anything telling him anything other than to  _ sit and rot _ . When Connor comes in today, he watches his counterpart with detached, feigned interest. Connor notices. 

“You’re trying to go back,” he says quietly, taking his usual seat. “Don’t. I know it sounds like it will be easier. It won’t. It’ll hurt worse, when all of the feelings come out at once. It’ll eat you from the inside out. Don’t do this to yourself.”

Nines just stares. 

“They’ve decided not to move you,” Connor continues, eyes directly trained on Nines. “Markus… and the leaders of Jericho argued on your behalf. There are no laws that can charge you as a murderer, since technically you’re not even employed.” 

There’s no sigh of relief, if that’s what Connor expected. The tension doesn’t leave his shoulders, doesn’t melt from the room. He doesn’t rush forward for a hug, doesn’t lurch forward in tearful relief. It’s not over. It will never be  _ over _ . 

“You’re still… compromised, both in your software and emotionally. We feel that it will be best to move you to Jericho for treatment.”

“Treatment.” 

You can’t treat a machine, he rationalizes. Machines don’t get sick, don’t develop illnesses. Machines don’t experience trauma, and while what he experienced during a moment of  _ software instability _ may have affected him in an undesirable way, that is in the  _ past.  _

And then, just like Connor said he would, he comes back. Like a car lurching forward in the fog, he nearly collapses in on himself. 

“Gavin—” 

“He’s gone, Nines,” Connor says, and Nines appreciates his bluntness, always has. He’s never liked the way humans tripped around the truth, but maybe, just maybe he needs that  _ right now _ . His advanced hearing picks up a heavy gait from outside of the door, and Connor’s eyes flit towards it. 

“Even if I leave here and go to Jericho…”

“He’s gone,” Connor finishes, and the footsteps outside of the door pick up again. No doubt it’s Hank on the other side of the darkened glass, upset with the way Connor’s handling this. “But you have to move on.”

“I don’t have to.”

“You do. That’s part of being alive.”

It’s those words. Nines’s hands stop trembling. When he meets Connor’s eyes again, he sees something like fear. He doesn’t know why Connor’s so scared, he’d said the perfect thing. 

The footsteps come closer and stop right outside the door. Connor stands shakily, and extends his hand to Nines. The former doesn’t take it. He should ask when he gets to leave, when he gets to  _ be alive _ . 

“Connor.” The detective stops, hands trembling almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t turn around, but he tilts his head in Nines’s direction. “Please take care of the cats.” It’s the only thing he can think of in the mess. He knows Gavin would want him to ask, at the very least. He’d want Connor or Anderson to care for them.

“I will,” Connor whispers. He wrests the door open, and leaves the cell. 

 

It’s too quiet once again. Nearly silent.  

 

And then, in a rush, he  _ remembers.  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i never have the energy for full length stories anymore but next chapter might b full length who knows


	5. Preconstruct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: references to suicide

_ “Why were you in Detective Reed’s home last night?” _

_ “The detective and I had dinner. I cooked, and we watched a movie.” _

_ “And you did not plan to go home?” _

_ “The detective and I agreed that I would not be overstaying my welcome if I stayed the night.”  _

_ “What is the nature of your relationship with Detective Reed?” _

_ “Romantic.”  _

 

On screen, Connor nods slowly, fingers fidgeting over the photos. His LED stutters in its calm blue cycle, and it’s the only thing that queues Hank that the answer had caught Connor off guard as well. He runs it back for what seems like the hundredth time that  _ minute _ , but Fowler’s leaned deep over his shoulder, watching intently, and the rest of the precinct is huddled in close proximity, and he knows that  _ someone _ needs to get this figured out. 

Connor’s sat at his desk, forehead cradled in his hands.

_ “If you can find this person, what will it do? You and I are the only models who are subject to remote manipulation. They meant to use me as a tool of destruction, and they succeeded in destroying everything that I cared about. _

_ “Even if I’m found not guilty, even if I get to go home, what then? I killed him, Connor, I killed the first person who made me feel like a person. I woke up in the middle of the night with his blood on my hands.”  _

Fowler leans back sometime after the latest loop, staring at the screen in confusion. “Was  _ anyone _ in this room aware that Detective Reed and RK900 were…”

No one answers, as expected. Connor’s LED is stuttering yellow, strobing as he undoubtedly combs through every bit of evidence his own mind can provide him. When he lifts his head, it’s to Hank’s piercing gaze and Fowler’s tired eyes.

He’s stood in the back of Fowler’s office, and the windows are darkened from the outside. He has little recall of how he got here, but he trusts that Hank will fill him in.

“Anything?” Hank asks, voice rough with exhaustion. 

“I can confirm with 98.9% certainty that Nines and Detective Reed were not involved in any sort of romantic or physical relationship.”

The breath leaves his human counterparts in a heavy second, mixing the air in the enclosed office. He’s already run countless preconstructions of the events of Friday night, three weeks ago, most of them with the base assumption that RK900 and Reed were merely work acquaintances. 

Connor is certain that he’s correct. Certain that what he’s presented to Fowler as a solved case is as true to the events of that night as possible. 

Connor is certain that until now, he’s never wished for less processing power. For someone to have never given him the power of preconstruction, for someone to have scrapped him after his first few failed missions.

“So the case  _ for _ 900?” Hank asks after a few seconds of quiet hesitation. Fowler’s head is deep in his hands, much as Connor’s were before, and Connor’s never empathised more in his life. 

“Nonexistent.” He can feel Hank’s desperate scrabble to avoid falling into the same conclusion that Fowler had finally come to and that Connor had yet to accept. “There is absolutely no evidence, other than Nines’s testimony that he was not in control of himself.”

“But you said you felt the attack too—”

“Hank, there was no attack. I was referencing the remnants of our base programming, specifically on the night of the revolution. At first…” Connor’s eyes begin to flicker rapidly in time with his LED, and he continues, “At first I believed that he was using the metaphor as well… but I can see now with 75% certainty that he has convinced himself that an attack did occur.”

“The download file—” 

“I accessed it remotely, with his permission. It was an audio file of all of Detective Reed and RK900’s interactions. He’d stored it in the cloud and downloaded it that night at 1:00 am.” 

“And the fucker’s saying that it was encoded data? Something about this doesn’t sit right with me, Connor.” 

“It doesn’t sit right with me either. But I was allowed to access Nines’s memory of that night. I do not know why he would say that he and Detective Reed reached an agreement. Based on the video evidence, Nines arrived to Reed’s apartment and was turned away. He tried again about five more times before he forced his way into the apartment despite Reed’s threats.”

“And I’m guessing it wasn’t in a flirty friends way either, huh?” Hank asks, not really expecting an answer. Connor answers in the negative anyway, just to be certain. 

“It says here,” Fowler speaks up for the first time, “in your report, that Chen allowed you to access the messages exchanged between her and Detective Reed?”

“Yes,” Connor affirms, turning to interface with one of Fowler’s larger screens. Message thread after message thread scrolls by, and he slows it down to a pace that he believes should not be challenging for the humans. An audio clip plays alongside it:

 

_ “Gavin, you need to have a serious talk with Fowler—” _

_ “I did! He just thinks I’m being paranoid! Told me I had to get my attitude together or lose my badge, Tina I don’t—” _

_ “Talk to Hank then? Connor?” _

_ “You seen the way they talk to it! Like it’s a little kid! Like they have to teach it something.” _

_ “Like I said Gavin, you need to have a  _ serious _ talk with Fowler. You can’t just tell him that it’s stalking you but have nothing to back it up with!” _

_ “What about the video you said you took? Of it trying to break in.” _

_ “Gone. He grabbed my phone at work the next morning, deleted all of it. Check you messages, the copy I sent you is gone too.” _

_ “If I hadn’t seen this shit for myself, I wouldn’t believe you either, Gav.” _

 

“And I’m assuming you took all of this to that Markus guy?” Fowler asks after a few more recordings run by. “Actually, don’t. I know you did. No such thing as not releasing sensitive investigation details or anything. And make a note to get a statement from Chen.”    


Connor ignores the quip and settles for answering Fowler’s question in more detail. “Markus theoreticized that Nines’s preconstruction routine is continually overlaying reality. After some extensive research,” Connor doesn’t mention that it took four androids seventy-two hours to open and comb all encrypted CyberLife files regarding the RK series, “we found that the RK900 model was programmed with hyper realistic preconstruction models to aid in maximum crime scene accuracy. Since deviancy, both Markus and I have reported faulty preconstructions due to preconceptions or wants, rather than reality.” 

Hank nods in delayed understanding, turning his eyes from the screen and looking Connor in the eye, finally. “What’s the motive then? Jealousy? He stopped seeing what he wanted to see and couldn’t handle it?”

“There is nothing in any of the evidence that I collected that confirms, without a doubt, that Nines wished to do harm to Detective Reed. It’s more likely that the Detective and Nines were experiencing two separate versions of the same event.”

“How did you find Reed. What condition was he in.” Fowler’s flat voice is muffled by his hands once again. Hank’s shaking his head in what Connor can only guess to be disappointment. He makes a note to ask in what later. 

Hank answers this one. “He was unresponsive. The cause of death seems to be carbon monoxide poisoning. Asphyxiation”

“How does Nines say he killed Reed?”

“Stabbing.”

Connor’s still trying to work out what conclusions he can draw. Because he knows that Nines’s memories do not align at all with the evidence at hand. The argument that Nines left the stove on to willingly kill the Detective will be made. Nothing in Nines’s notifications leads Connor to believe he sensed the carbon monoxide, and his sensors were fully functional at the time. A notification was indeed sent, but Nines did not view it because it did not appear. 

The room is silent. Connor thinks he’s beginning to understand why silence always disturbed Nines so. 

  
  
  
  
  


It’s like something out a nightmare, Nines imagines. A quick search would answer his question, but his networks are still stonewalled, still twisted around in his head like some approximation of a human brain. 

He thinks the ground beneath him is illuminated. Multicolor, he assumes, what with the variety in the room. He supposes that whatever treatment Markus has in store for him will undoubtedly see him locked away in some android holding room, disguised as treatment. They’ll dig around in his mind just like technician and technician before. 

He hasn’t seen Connor since he’s been in Jericho for some time… he can’t tell exactly how long it’s been, either. Doesn’t know why he’s in Jericho, when he knows that he still has to call help to Gavin’s apartment. 

  
  
  
  
  


Connor and Hank stand in Reed’s doorway. The android steps into the space first, for the second time in nearly a month, eyes clouding over but not allowing him to lose sight of reality. 

He can hear Reed curse the android and watches him try his hardest to push the android out of his doorway. Takes note of the way the detective turns into the kitchen, hands on his head while he screams at Nines’s unmoving figure. The flowers that lay wilted on the floor were upright and healthy in Nines’s grasp while Gavin shouted his throat raw. 

_ “Leave me the fuck alone! Just leave me alone, please leave me alone.” _

Connor watches the way Gavin rolls up in his blanket, while Nines is laid next to him in bed, oblivious of the happenings of what’s going on around him. Oblivious in the way that Gavin closed and locked every window, stuffed a towel under every door.

  
  
  
  


In a lab in New Jericho, RK900 visits Gavin’s resting place and lays a bouquet of flowers on the tombstone. 

“We can’t salvage his memory,” a voice says in the breeze. “Our only option is to wipe his memory and start over.” 

The echo of a click, some footsteps, the wall of his cell sliding closed. More footsteps. 

There’s still blood under the artificial nails of his hands.

Nines stills his chest, lets his biocomponents heat up. He stops breathing, wonders what it would feel like if he were to place his head on his own chest and hear nothing. 

The room is silent. 

_ “Leave me alone!”  _ A voice says in the wind. He looks up and around for it. 

“Please take care of the cats.” He says to the closest body near him in the cemetery. He’s not sure why he believes the stranger can help. 

 

 

“Sleep now, Nines,” another far off voice commands him, and he does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well got that self-indulgent nonsense out. Forgot to post this chapter lol, and it's completely unedited/unbeta-ed. I wrote it while i was not in any condition to be writing, too, so don't expect too much. 
> 
> if you wanna read something that makes sense read Will He and then nothing else cause that's the only thing i've ever been proud of writing.

**Author's Note:**

> these chapters are going to be SO short because I don't want it to feel... idk... its fragmented. 
> 
> i'm gonna like put up all five chapters at once so watch out for that


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